


A Rose by Any Other Name

by SeeThemFlying



Category: Il nome della rosa | The Name of the Rose (TV), Il nome della rosa | The Name of the Rose - Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose (1986)
Genre: All things medieval, F/M, Memories, This book is seriously beautiful, Why am I writing something that is not Braime?, dead love, if a bit intellectual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: Night had fallen, black and beautiful, by the time Brother Adso got to his knees and prayed. Even though his old bones ached, he prayed for the things he always did, the things he had prayed for since he was a novice; the souls of his parents, trapped in purgatory, for those victims of that heinous crime he had long ago witnessed, for his teacher, William of Baskerville, long gone to his rest.And he prayed for her. Most of all he prayed for her.
Relationships: Adso of Melk/The Girl from the Village
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	A Rose by Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> What am I doing writing something that isn't Jaime and Brienne in a really obscure fandom for a pairing that doesn't even have a tag? I don't know, but I hope you like it. Here, I am showing my love for all things medieval by doing a little fic about a great book, "The Name of the Rose" by Umberto Eco. I recently watched the new 2019 miniseries which got me back into this story, and I remembered how reading the relationship between Adso and the nameless girl from the village made me cry and cry and cry, because it was just so gosh darn innocent and hopeful, before it was all ruthlessly stripped away.
> 
> If you are coming here from my Jaime/Brienne stuff, I've not been too spoilery about the book, in case you want to read it. I hope you enjoy!

Night had fallen, black and beautiful, by the time Brother Adso got to his knees and prayed. Even though his old bones ached, he prayed for the things he always did, the things he had prayed for since he was a novice; the souls of his parents, trapped in purgatory, for those victims of that heinous crime he had long ago witnessed, for his teacher, William of Baskerville, long gone to his rest.

And he prayed for her. Most of all he prayed for her.

She, the peasant girl who haunted his dreams, the only earthly love of his long life. For the others he prayed for, he could list names - Gerhard, Matilde, Adelmo, Venantius, Berengar, Severinus, Malachi, Abo, and William - but never hers. Adso had never learnt her name before she had been destroyed by flames, and she had taken that secret, as well as every other extraordinary thing about her, with her when she went.

Yet she lived on within him when he looked at the sky and saw her, forever young, while he was old, and growing older by the day. He had lived a good life and he hoped his brothers would have joyful remembrances of him as they sang the Office for the Dead and when they inscribed his name into the abbey's obituary. If not, at least his name would be branded on the books he copied that were now stored in the library; Isidore's _Etymologies,_ Augustine's _The City of God,_ and Ovid's _Metamorphoses._

 _Adso in hoc libro._ Adso made this book.

But her? Once Adso of Melk - a poor, wretched sinner - was returned to the earth, to the dust from whence he came, she would join him in his grave. Dead. Forgotten. Nameless. Not even the memory of her beauty or the remembrances of her smile to sustain her. She would disappear from the trees and the flowers that surrounded his Alpine home, where only old Adso saw her, replaced by nothing but natural beauty, devoid of her. The young did not know the old, after all.

Getting to his feet, Adso climbed into bed, his whole body aching with the strain. He knew he was nearing his end - he was in enough pain to know - yet still, he felt he had not completed his life's work. Even now, when he fell asleep, his dreams and nightmares became intertwined; when he saw her smile, he was also visited by the flames that killed her, and the burning stench of the library of Pietranera destroyed by hellfire. Both were gone, both permanently blotted out, yet at least the latter had a name that would outlive Adso and his memories of the place, inspiring others to rebuild its wonder, and rediscover the secrets obliterated by flame.

 _I should go back to Pietranera,_ he thought. _It is important that I, the only one who remembers what it was once, tries to rebuild its beauty._

_For myself._

_For her._

_For the rose._

Tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving comments and kudos!


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